Little Willy: The Devil Darley
by ClassicalyWrote
Summary: Billy Darley wants to make the most of this night, this time around. He's ready for his Devil's Night.


_A/N: **Hello all. It's time for another story. This is a simple one-shot and I know I haven't updated for over a year now, but when you've got writer's block, what can you do? This story was written for a Halloween Challenge and this is the original version I had written but I had to edit it down to 1,000 words. However, I decided that when I posted I would post what I first had written. Hope you all like it and remember- I still suck a punctuation, but I am trying. -Kris/Kay**_

_**Disclaimer: **__ I do NOT own anything. I only own the plot. The characters, their names, places, e.t.c. are all property of James Wan who created Death Sentence. I also do not own- Devil's Night, which is the night before Halloween. So, don't sue me! This is for fun purposes only! _

**October 30th, 1993 **

**Boston, Massachusetts**

"You fuckin' pricks!"

That thick Boston accent full of so much hatred and violence could only match one man. Bones Darley.

With a sigh William Darley dragged himself from the comforting depths of his sheets. Yes, another day in paradise hell. William thought, absentmindedly running his sore hands through the golden mass on the top of his head. A deep sigh left his overworked lips. Pulling the drawstring tighter on the torn gray sweatpants, he trudged through the littered floor of his sloppy bedroom. Feet and toes hit beer cans, clothes, trash, dishes with left over food in them that had begun to smell a little past last Tuesday. The teen only grunted, kicking each item out of his way, trapping it further into the traps of his 'sanitary' room. He growled reaching the dirty window overlooking the junkyard of his father's so called auto shop for 'cars'. With one hand William wiped down the dusty pane and flipped the latch which was surprisingly in place. William never seemed it fit to lock this place, hoping for a series of options.

Choice A: Someone would break into this shit hole of a home and shove a gun up Bones' self righteous ass. B: Someone would make their way into his house and shoot Bones in the face, maybe an eye? Or C: All of the above. William smirked as he opened the window, using force to push the creaky bastard up. The cool air of Boston's autumn weather rushed in on his body, littering each inch of skin with goose bumps.

Looking below at the small warzone that was his future inheritance, he pondered the thought further. Bones kept cameras everywhere. He was smart- in the ways that Rockside and hell required. So, if anyone did manage to get thorough the fence, the pathetic excuse for a guard dog, they'd run into something else. Trouble. Still, a guy could hope for some bull shit challenge once in a while, couldn't he?

It's not like William kept anything in this place remotely identifiable of what he did. Nothing like that would be kept within inches from his father. Miles even. It mattered nothing that Bones was the one who dealt him the dirty deals, gave out the products that he most certainly sampled. Nothing kept William Darley from not giving a shit about the possibilities of what could and would happen if someone stupid fucker busted in here. In a way he had Bones by his throat. If Bones went down he could take Billy, but at a price that would cost them both. Bones talking to the cops about his 'helpers' would have Bones loose his business and his freedom. And no one was to fuck with Bones Darley's free will. William sighed, looking back from the tattered remains of the grounds outside, taking a look around him.

The worst case scenario, they'd take a couples packs of stored ramen noodles, old pop bottles filled with change and best of all, William's select collection- containing Marlboro packs lasting from the 80's up till the present. Oh yeah, such a killer fucking prize. The fucks would not luck out on clothing. No, what littered his floor was usually what he wore. One pair of jeans, a black shirt, red shirt and a button jean shirt.

The rest of the mess contained numerous socks that looked like they had been hung up at target practice. And if a rival gang member was going to take used underwear then William was sure he didn't have to worry about a thing!

The thought made him laugh. He pulled his clothing from his body letting them join the eruption on the floor.

Moments later he was stepping under the hot spray of the water. Using most of the spare minutes he had to ease the tension out of his muscles and cleanse his blistered hands. All of this shit was physically wearing him down.

His knuckles gripped the towel tighter before he reached for the black comb laying on the chipped wooden dresser. William stood in front of the rusted mirror staring at his own tattooed body. With a purse of his lips and a scrunching of the nose he bent over to retrieve last night's jeans. With luck he found one remained, but ruffed up cigarette. He lit it up, his finger lazily tossing the lighter back onto the dresser and he pressed play on the radio. The cassette tape made a noise at being overly played but kicked on otherwise. With a knock of his fist he came in contact with the sound of AC/CD 's 'Highway To Hell' .

Not a minute later he heard the shouting of Bones. Something along the lines of "Turn that fuckin' shit off ya bastard!"

Feeling on the devilishly brave side today, William let his middle finger raise in clear direction of the window.

"Yeah, fuck ya," he chuckled with a wise ass grin. "Golden mop my ass." He flicked through his messy hair, not knowing what the hell to do to keep it out of his fucking way.

Quickly deciding he bent over, the remaining droplets of water sliding down his firm back, whilst he roughly ran his hands through his mop. Shaking it once, he sliced the comb through the roots, tossed it back onto the dresser. With a finger to the musical trigger the next song abruptly halted.

Not minutes later the cross necklace, blue jeans and a black t-shirt paired with the lanky work grated cowboy boots were secured on him. Tossing the trench coat onto his back, he made his way into the devil's lair.

The moment he stepped outside Bones' voice filtered through his ears, sending red to his brain.

"Fuckin' bastards! Thinkin' this shit won't have me cuttin' their little balls off!" Bones made sure to twist his overly large body directly towards the front gate, yelling menacingly at the now gone perpetrators and back to his junky blue lowered car, smothered in egg shells and oil.

Stuffing his hands into the leather pockets of the coat, William waited for the reason for the rain coming out of Bones' mouth.

"What the fuck are ya looking at me that way for, Billy Boy? This your fuckers' handy work? Huh?" He took a step closer.

Billy resisted the urge to roll his eyes so far they'd end up in the back of his head.

"No." He looked his father square in the eye, trying to spare himself a load of bullshit. He had plans of his to carry out and he didn't need Bones interfering.

"Listen to me. No fuckin' half assin' tonight! And don't cause me any fuckin' trouble. You make sure I'm fuckin paid! You got that?"

"Yeah." Billy agreed, his own accent rolling off in waves.

"Shit. Are you sure?" Bodie laughed, sipping out of a flask full of whiskey.

Billy eyed the flask with a toothy grin, holding onto the mustangs' leather steering wheel. "Fuck yeah."

"God damn. How'd you pull that off?"

"How do you think?" Billy yanked the flask away from his friend and tossed back the remains of the warm liquid, relishing in the burn it caused his throat to take.

"And if he would've been caught?"

"Then Heco would be missing his balls," Billy stated simply. "You get the stuff?"

Bodie tossed his head back. "What do you think?"

"Don't fuck with me!" Billy suddenly snapped, causing Bodie to sit up as if he had whip flash.

"Fuck. It's in the trunk."

"Good. Get the ass holes on the phone, tell them to meet us in Oak, on the uppers."

No rounds tonight had Billy feeling pretty damn good. The pigs would be out looking for trouble since it was the 30th. Billy felt the need to applaud them both out semi courage and sheer idiocy. Fuckers wouldn't stand a chance, even in the burbs watching out for gangs and shit. Dumb asses! He'd slept up until 3. Met Bodie at the bar. Fucked around with the newest waitress, drunk some shit. And about 2 whiskeys, a warm flask and a joint induced buzz, 8 PM eventually rolled around. Pure and utter darkness. Now, on their way in their familiarized route, they entered the suburbs of Boston's east side. Oak Street.

Parking the simple black mustang in the hidden carport of an old man whom had been reported to Billy as being near 90 by one of his men, he grabbed his share of the stuff from the trunk. He'd been mapping out this neighbor hood since the end of September. Right after the bust Detective Jessica Wallis made and he'd followed her home. When an idea struck him. She marked him as stupid, so she'd think he'd never cross her home, not on this night. Devil's night. The night Billy craved to have fun with more than his next lay. But Wallis was also paranoid. She'd worry herself into a headache or two. Knowing deep down in her little sweet heart that Billy did it. But no proof.

He signaled Jamie, Tommy, Bodie, Baggy and Heco to hit the left side of the house. In their hands they carried rope, lighters and oil cans. He nodded to Dog, whom had the best sense and eye on him to keep Billy's back at this kind of job. Billy's coat long left in mustang and forgotten they made their way down the sidewalk, across the street and into the other yard, silently slithering around and under the windows. Bodie and Billy shared a mutual agreement. Bodie carried out orders with the guys with him and Billy had Dog to command.

Within seconds Billy had ducked behind the tacky lawn ornaments and dozens of flowers pots, easing his way towards the locked shed hidden behind a green layer of bushes. He ushered Dog to make his way behind an idiotic orange colored flower, Dog smashing each plant that as he went on, snickering. Billy felt the eye roll overtake him.

"Stupid fuck," he muttered to himself, easily keying the lock.

He wasn't the son of Bones for nothing was he?

Yanking up his sleeves and securing the leather gloves that would cover his traces, he took out the gas and gave the room a glance. It had tables lined up against it, with a makeshift clothesline holding up pictures of Jessica's family. What Billy was eyeing was the cabinet in far right. He ran his hands over the metal. To anyone else it'd look like Wallis kept her picture supplies in this. Billy knew, whilst eyeing the lock. Her pictures of his gang were in there. Doing what he didn't know, he just didn't need a chance shadowing over him or his ass everyday. So, without hesitation, he picked up the crowbar and bashed the lock, it came flying open. He didn't need to eye the pictures to know what she saw. He picked up the gas can and soaked the evidence until the black ink started to melt into the white gloss of the picture. He doused the entire room before stepping back and taking out a simple white handkerchief. He ripped it into two pieces, lit those with ease, tossed one onto the floor and into the cabinet. He slammed the doors about the time he heard a crash and some screaming. He gave Dog a look of pure cockiness before they joined the rest of the men into running down the street. They were into the mustangs and heading out back into Rockside and the high still hadn't subsided.

"How'd we do?" Bodie grinned, showing off his perfect smile.

"We still got our freedom and our balls," Billy retorted, a smile etched onto his features before turning up Highway to Hell.

**_And the verdict? Hahaha. Toss me some feedback. Criticisms are welcome as well. Thanks for reading- Kris/Kay_**


End file.
